


My Muse of fire

by Miserable_toad



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, POV, Severus Snape - Freeform, Smut, Spinners End, goth aesthetic, reader - Freeform, reader POV, smut in a dark gothic club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:53:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25576120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miserable_toad/pseuds/Miserable_toad
Summary: Every Friday you went to this dimsy Gothic club just to see him, standing in a corner: A tall, gaunt man with long black hair and you could never take your eyes off him.
Relationships: Severus Snape & Reader, Severus Snape/Original Female Character(s), Severus Snape/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 66





	My Muse of fire

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing smut so be gentle with me. Just an experimental one-shot I had lying around in my head for a while. A song I was certainly thinking of to set the mood was from the movie "Only Lovers Left Alive" was the one from the wonderful Yasmine Hamdan: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XDepIDGKC2UF It's one of my favourite movies and Severus certainly fits the Tom Hiddleston Vampire aethetic though it's not about vampires here.
> 
> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. I do not profit financially from the creation and publication of this story.
> 
> Comments always appreciated. Thank you for reading!

He was my muse.

Every Friday evening I went to this dimsy Gothic club where they’ve played nothing but melancholy and dark music. Sisters of Mercy, Nine Inch Nails, Bauhaus, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. Everything slow, moody, dark, magical. You get lost in the slow movements of the dancers, the black clothes, the fog machine which makes the room smell like vanilla.

And every Friday he was there. A tall man with long black hair, a gaunt but elegant face with a crooked nose. He wore a wide black shirt and black jeans. Standing in a corner with his drink in his hand. Black eyes wandering over the dancers. He wore a silver potion necklace and green jewelled rings on his hand. I’ve never seen him dance, never seen him sing. 

Every Friday, I watched him. A magnetic field pulling me towards him. I’ve drawn him in thousands of versions. Wrote his title in my diaries for a million times. I’ve called him muse and he ignited a fire in me that I’ve found nowhere else.

One Friday, he moved towards me. I stood frozen in shock. He said: “Let’s dance.” and I went with it. He took my hand and slowly led me to the dancefloor. We danced like a ballroom couple. His eyes deep in mine. He smelled like oakwood and smoke. His hand on my waist sent out rays of magic. He whispered into my ear: “I’ve seen your thoughts. You don’t need to explain. Just follow me and we’ll forget.” We danced until the song was over and I lost myself in his touch.

He moved towards his usual spot but instead of a drink, he drank me. Pushed me to the wall, his lips touching mine. I’ve drowned in the sensation of his tongue on mine. His hands burning on my skin. I’ve burned under his fire and I didn’t mind. His hips gently pushing into mine. I felt his hardness through his black jeans. How his hands wandered under my top and electrified my skin.

When the fire got too wild, he led me outside to the dark-lit street. We walked hand in hand under the stars to Spinners End and he led me into an old house. Books furnished the walls and his bed was unmade but I didn’t care.

He pushed me on the bed and looked at me with an intense gaze. He took off his shirt and revealed his skinny body. His muscular chest, his abs. I could see him breathing hard in anticipation. I felt a shiver down my spine when he moved towards me. His long and slender fingers removing my top and my skirt, touching my chest like it was fine art, wandering to my breasts, touching the tips. All while he moved above me, his weight on my legs and hips. His lips hovering over mine, feeling his hot breath, teasing me. Finally, pulling in, the taste of firewhiskey on his tongue, frantic, wild, passionate kisses. Him whispering in my ear with a deep and rolling voice: “I will devour you until you scream.”

Moving down, kissing my boobs, my waist, my thighs until finally hitting the spot that sends electric shocks through my body. Losing myself, moaning, screaming when his fingers enter me, hitting the bed while I’m coming and coming and coming. 

Removing his jeans and underpants, he kept his gaze on me, smirking with a fire in his eyes. He put his long black hair in place, kissed me again and then said: “Give me your all and I’ll give mine to you.” Before he pushed his length into me and I moaned. Slow thrusts, losing myself, just heat and rays of energy inside me. I heard his quiet moans in my ear and I felt like I was hearing the choir of something rare and pure. Another height was nearing and I could feel him shaking, getting more erratic with his thrusts until we both fell apart.

We laid together, a mass of sweat and overwhelming exhaustion. He wrapped his arms around me and fell asleep on my chest, hands intertwined, twisted in bedsheets. In the morning he called me “my rose” and looked at me with his black pearl eyes. My muse invited me to stay and I never got tired of his fire in me.


End file.
